The Sedalia weekly bazoo. [volume] (Sedalia, Mo.) 187?-1904, 1887-06-14

fellow.
Doc was not an unappreciative boy.
He sang those queer, Old-fashioned
songs for uS-sOngs which he had heard
his mother sing. L have sat and lis
tened To his Barbara Allen" as the
echoes ran riot among the caves and
jungles, till the big owl returned the
challenge with a knocking fit of insane
laughter.
The old song comes back to me with
the quaint rhythm as | write:
He sent his servant so the town,
Where Barb'ry was a-dwellin'.
Sayin' you must go TO me own master
IF your name be Barb'ry Allen.
Then there was another stanZa that
was very affecting indeed:
And as she walked adown the street
The bells they were a-tollin.
And every toll they seemed 10 say,
Hard-hearted Barb'ry Allen.
l know the old song would not at.
tune well to a parlor organ, and ]
doubt if YOU could play it on grand
piano. But there was a pathos of the
thing that stirred my youthful soul &c
its depths.
Blue-eyed spring began to grow
plump. and finally developed into the
maturer charms of summer. Summer,
with the drone of the bumblc-bee al
noon. and lazy Lawrence dancing OF
the worm fences. Summer time, sweet
summer time! The peaches ripened
and Redeemed, and the corn silks began
TO appear. Doc said if the first silk you
saw was red one YOU would be healthy
and lucky the balance of the year. The
first one he saw that summer was 4 rec
one.
And, o. the signs and savings he
taught Us. He told us that if we saw
the new moon in a clear sky it was
lucky. He told us if we killed toad
our best cow would die. He told liz
that the knots in Old Beauty's name
when we went TO feed her in the morn
ing-Old Beauty was our hOrse-were
caused by the witches who rode heI
the night before. and used these knots
for stirrups. Then he said when old
Dominicker, my favorite hen, took a
spell of growing that
"WhiSlin' women an CROWN hens
is apt to come to some bad end"
Sure enough, blue darter hawk
killed old Dominicker the very next
Sunday.
Doc began to be stout and strong
now. He looked on the faded jacket
and little breeches he wore when he
first came to our house iR a sort of
reminiscently plying way, for his arms
had grown more muscular, and his
short legs had grown stouter, and Doe
began to be right good-looking boy,
after all.
Autumn came with her sad eyes and
sobbing winds. Autumn had a deeper
significance than ever before. for there
were portentous tidings waited from
afar on every breeze that wandered
through the heavens. A big white
comet blazed in the sky. and Doc said
that meant war. Doc was a respecta-
ble-looking lad, indeed, now. He was
fifteen years old. but few would have
believed it. His eyes still had that far
away expression in them. He was older
than his years.
That was a winter long TO be remem-
bered. Gray uniforms were seen at
the last yearly meeting, held in Novem-
Der. and the preachers at that meeting
spoke words that sounded harshly in
our untutored ears. Young women
hummed warlike airs, and were eager
to catch the last refrain.
remember how the crimson deep
ened on Cousin Sues brown cheek
when she ratified off:
Huzza. Huzza. for the bonnie blue flag Sc dear
Huzza! for the sword and plume that Southern
soldiers wear
At the first frolic the fiddler wore
a red feather in his hat and played
"Dixie."
Men talked and women sang, and
the warm blood ran riot in the South
ern veins. ION to war;" 80, Johnnie,
aire YOU boun' TO be a soldier?''
Your waist il is too slender.
Your hands. they are too small,
And your cheeks too red and rosy
To face cannon ball
And sing O-and sing o,
Sure you will. my dear!
One wintry night the Northern sky
burst into a. deep crimson. and we
knew that the supernatural flame of
aurora borealis was burning on the
brow of heaven. Doc said that was
the sign of war. Every thing was the
sion of war. We had noticed the omi.